I Lived Inside a Poem Once.

I lived inside a poem once,
but her words were sometimes cold and dank,
and I shivered into
streams of conscious thought
flailing madly
in a river
of inky midnight
blackhole stars.

The Sound of My True Voice.

I woke up last night

startled by the ghost of phantom tears

that were soaked into my pillow sheet

How old was I, I wonder,

that first time

when I felt shame

colour in the spaces between

the letters of my name?

A Firefly in Love.

If you examine the body's surface
each scar stretches into a trail
felted with the fabric of
stories of stars that wait to be born